Ned-OldArchive

dear farmer joe, (WIP)

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Mon, 30 May 2005 18:23:48 GMT

  I tripped through your field on a nude daisy romance.  It   being summer,   the corn tassels muttered   their milt at the moon.  Late June?No,later in August, when sap churned up gullet  and she, being cornfed,  was wanton and muttonas I pulled my blankie  from out of the trunk where  I kept it in case of  a cold Texas summer.IfItrifled your furrows for innocent plunder, was  hardly the reason  your flower's plowed under,  this late in the season, the  well...

livin' in the ozone

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Sat, 21 May 2005 14:46:18 GMT

popcorn farts lead foosball sharks on fits of scoring rage
pong is-> kong-> ms. pac man-> song-> a page, a page, a page

hippie hangout-haven, hummin' jammin' jayhawk-joint
helter-skelter, bungfish belter,scream, "who got the point?"

amazon loud mary, lady luv, play side o' me
--yor head falls like a pyramid , it's flowin' to yer knees)

*

three-two beer was pretty queer and softball in the yard
busthead cops, you little...

posthumous squirrel

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Fri, 26 Nov 2004 16:14:36 GMT

Ole, my friend, what misered fate
has caused you to fandango
beneath the wheels of my old Ford
in restless mode, inertial?

Did you fear the setting sun,
the carnival of whetted planks
the phalanx of the your brothers' gore
perplexed in splendid sentiment?

What whimsy drove thy sated son
he balks at chances, plunders mohr
explains cold tipsy sentient
in mangled stems of pressdean arms

****

She was a T, bucking Ford,
mangled, mean,...

The Seven Lost Sonnets of Piltdown Goosman

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Thu, 10 Jun 2004 06:55:24 GMT

You startled, my diamond,
in pink combat boots, green
halter askew on your whitechapel walk;
hiked granny skirt clear
of the menacing mud mess,
your bridal slip cinched to my corset.

On floorboards, I think-- sawn oak? Not otherwise
too engaged in mere conversation,
we practiced the steps of our queer terpsichore.
In rabelaise whoopee, we cantered, we saw
not scoreboards, while clustered in...

Travis Watershed

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Thu, 10 Jun 2004 06:05:10 GMT

V
At it, this mornin', I seen 'em
peckin'. Peckin' an' scratchin'
an' swallowin' the shit. Two
mop-lengths from the section
we'se workin' on, four
bluish tanks, gap-mawed like sparrow chicks,
sits on they spindly legs.

They'se fillin' 'em up
with these white plastic pellets
an' some fool mergansers
has catched on like it's food. It's
gine ta be cable coatin', I reckon,
but right...

Sunday Night at the Thayer

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Fri, 27 Feb 2004 05:55:07 GMT

Tomorrow, no horns blared. The rifles
attend mass in their shackles.
Silent. Past the link
of great chain that once barred
the Hudson, I trace Lover's Walk.
Did they walk it? Only yesterday,
we sacrificed their letters.

I had deduced her skin:
an apothecary's cap
beneath blue cashmere.
She bantered her valise
across three lanes
in the Dulles snow.

December dragged. How long?
Yew trees brought ague
and wan limbs, its extract
a...

deconstructing the artichoke (WIP)

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Mon, 08 Sep 2003 17:27:40 GMT

Why must I suffer the butter to curdle?
Is it time to caress these dead leaves
with my hands, through my lips; the tips
of the fruit still laden with barbs?
If poisoned, I pluck them and utter,
"Their stings are mere flea bites."
They offend me; not long.
I cast them away to the blue
salad bowl my mother admired.
The willow is faded some now.

We would sit, sit and dip;
she'd cackle, chin dripping,
determined grin tinged by the grease...

switchblade

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Tue, 26 Aug 2003 01:19:39 GMT

the handle's fake plastic, yet comely
in dragons. the neck's sporting
crossbars, to parry the blow
it glitters, it shines, the neck
burnished, furrowed.
it flits in your hand,
this cold steel.

slip hickey from pocket,
silk-screened obeisance,
infanticide fantasy, wield
closed to my side,
one push on my hilt
deft cracker, slit
cranium
know i deal death:
my erection

--*--*--*--*--*--
original:

the handle's fake plastic,...

One Long-Necked Buzzard (WIP)

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Tue, 12 Aug 2003 07:21:33 GMT

one long-necked buzzard, one long-necked buzzard, sitting on aaaaaaaaaaaa fence, he flew aaaaaaaaaaaa way, what aaaaaaaaaaaa shame.

        on the mexican sidewalks:pudenda and beer and crones almed with conesfor sport toss nickels to chicos                off bridges-- they'll snatch themor suffer their bones...cigarettes    (horseShit)and switchblades for salechess sets-- black onyx/soapstone                                           always the pullof the strange, strange manwith lurid sorties to sell she's swell!cigarettes,...

twin peaks in blue mojo (WIP)

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Fri, 13 Jun 2003 05:02:51 GMT

One stone scoopneck midnite mama
struts a line up to the bar,
slugged in blue, in velcro mojo,
saran, baby, voodoo star.
I'm just knockin' back a six-pack,
six sheets gone with Paddy Bourne.
She's stiff-packin' back some knockers,
whistle wind to keep her warm.
I seen hookers, hos and flozelles
flounce their fares at ne'er-do-wells, and
I can tap...

freebooters of the mojave (WIP)

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Fri, 13 Jun 2003 04:54:02 GMT

             We left--                 heaved our mules in the miles of desert.(Those damn city shoes weren't fit for the sand.)Stopped for a smoke and a beacon                 of water        at some landside tootsie-roll store.Jesus came with us --                         -- He'd needed the comfort. --->We'd mentioned offhand...

gas can man vs. the homeboy twinkies

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Sat, 30 Nov 2002 16:00:21 GMT

      (i)his mind sings of the flower- the macabre day lily; declension a mako of rare pearls and gardenspilched on 4 seats of the red linea mako? no shark, he: a scion!low e train torn from its railingmere tensored greenbrier sprawlpilched on 4 seats of the red line(ii)exotic               ...

I Hope He Eats Dogs At My Funeral

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Thu, 24 Oct 2002 09:15:25 GMT

Snap! Dance with grandma as she shakes her bootie.
Plastic cups litter the plains. Give me three steps
and bellow it madly; crunch gravel to things goin' on.
Don't give me back bullets. I'll take
a Taurus and memories of 12-hour drives;
my son and I groovin' to old Skynyrd tunes
like we did when...

Carbon

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Fri, 27 Sep 2002 12:09:48 GMT

"Yes, this is available for your pets."

Advertisement for LifeGem Memorials--
the company that specializes in turning human
remains into diamonds.

When I die, I'll be hard-pressed
to turn into a diamond

a yellowed husk of half-gram weight
estoppelled by my sojourn

from claiming polish, fit or lustre
quality...

hurtling towards the creamed-corn miasma

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Wed, 28 Aug 2002 04:58:10 GMT

seething mass: rat-tangled lines
explode reckless in the air
horrid clap: maid snapping sheets
angel one, you've got the gall

naked, brazen in the wind
orange pumpkin with screaming thud
corn field bound at speed of light
diving to ripe melon fall

jettison with mind-numb speed
falling, twisting manticore
Colonel's bucket's slowly turning
(invite me in for one last call?)

corn field rises up to greet me
find the handle, I implore
reaper,...

transannular plasmoids (ver. 9)

feeds@yuku.com (ejjobrien) — Mon, 26 Aug 2002 20:18:59 GMT

Cubicle screens gild endless reams
of do-it-my-way pencil screams.
(Not sure when you'll joydare the green?)
Well, join me, flagonned sideways.

Pour a mustache of frozen milk.
(Shall kindness pass without one mot?)
Emote three boasts in barley bloat,
proclaim, "They're innermost feelings!"

Last night, I picked.
I picked at the salad. I picked
at the salad I picked at the store....